If my skull were a circle of light

If my skull were a circle of light



I would use it unfairly.



 



After you were mesmerized



I would place my tattoo,



 



and setting you down, I’d



read you what I am reading



 



until you spoke it with me.



Next, I’d take a long walk



 



as the tides bring in the next



waves of damaged fish woven in glowing polyps.



 



To erase the record



of any potential transaction



 



I would make myself into a cherub



and install myself back



 



into the painting from which



I think I arrived most recently.



 



My book, which is the only one



with much in it worth reading



 



for your sake, doesn’t germinate



in your abdomen. Don’t get excited.



 



I’m the last cycle



of a perpetual murmur,



 



and my reasons are byzantine.



These dealings in high wind,



 



they break on the high rocks,



and I couldn’t replace them if I tried.